


TGWDLM drabbles

by christian_hayes



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Check warnings per chapter, Drabbles, Gen, Happy Ending, Nightmares, Suicide mention, dark shit, death mention, fix-its
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christian_hayes/pseuds/christian_hayes
Summary: Just a bunch of short TGWDLM drabbles, usually a slight deviation from canon but I try to stick to the material.





	1. Colorado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A five acre plot of land in Colorado and shared trauma is the best way to spend the rest of your life.

They got away. Don't ask them how, they don't remember and even if they did, they wouldn't want to talk about it. It's understandable, really, perfectly normal to not want to talk about something like the attack on Hatchetfield. That's what the therapists say, at least. But everything's alright because they have each other and a 5 acre plot of land in Colorado. Perfect for a long-desired pot farm and a few dogs. A cat to keep the mice in check (well, that was supposed to be Kenny's purpose anyways. Truth is that Paul babied him too much, and now he's lazy) and a bunny that Emma found along the road which had a broken paw. The vet told them it would be best to keep it or leave it at the vet's and Emma couldn't deny its floppy ears and big eyes, so now Spike has a permanent home on the small farm in the middle of nowhere.

And everything is perfect, even when times get rough. Because not every dream is nice when you've been attacked by aliens. And sometimes you can get scared when you don't know where the music is coming from. And the loud slam of the garage door can sound a bit too much like a helicopter crash or a gun or a grenade. And Paul doesn't drink coffee anymore and Emma hasn't sung since the attacks. A blue light can be annoying and certain names bring back memories they're trying so hard to forget. And one of their plants is named after professor Hidgens.

But it's fine, because they have each other and they understand. They know. When Paul can feel the leftover blue coursing through his veins, when Emma can hear Zoey in her head, singing that fucking song as they go down. And it's okay, because they're together.


	2. Orange Pills for Blue People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul discovers hell twice.
> 
> So this one is way darker than the last one  
> Basically trigger warning for:  
> -(contemplating and attempting) suicide  
> -corpses  
> -mind control  
> -general darkness

Was this what hell was? Eternal singing and dancing, your body taking over as your mind struggles against its hold. Was this it? The rest of his life? Could he even die now, now that his blood flowed blue and music coursed through his veins like a drug he never meant to inject. Did any of them know? The people around him who'd gotten turned before he had, were they struggling as much as he had, fighting themselves inside? And if they were, why didn't they give a sign? A rest in the music, an off-key note. A scared look or a tap on the shoulder that didn't belong in the choreo. Then again, Paul hadn't tried either. Truth was that he was tired. It had been two years since he'd set off that grenade, and the only thing that kept him sane was that he hadn't seen Emma dancing around town. He hadn't heard her clear soprano since that day in the coffee shop and nothing made him happier. Well, maybe death would make him happier.

He'd tried. He'd tried walking off buildings in the few precious moments that he had control over his body. Tried to walk into the ocean or drink bleach or slit his wrists or anything at all, he'd exhausted every avenue time and time again, but the thing inside his head always took over before salvation could come his way. Every time Paul thought he was about to do it, it steered him away from the edge and back into a crowd of others. He didn't know if they were fighting, never saw a spark in their eyes, but maybe that was for the better, because he wouldn't wish this upon anyone. So he walked the streets and danced with death alone.

Until three years had passed, and the army walked in. Better prepared than last time as they faced the dancing masses that had once been kids Paul had gone to school with. Coworkers, old friends, the girl he babysat, her girlfriend. All of them, charging towards the soldiers, singing a happier song than usual as one word rung through Paul's brain: victims. But for every person that came close, the soldiers had a pill. And one by one the dancers dropped like flies. Like their strings had been cut and they were finally allowed to be what they should have been. Corpses. Thousands of corpses. And Paul ran towards them with the rest of the crowd, because the aliens were too desperate for apotheosis to notice the decrease in numbers. And he tripped over the bodies. Accidentally kicked a familiar head of grey hair, stumbled over people he'd considered his friends, and it didn't touch him anymore.

And someone shoved a pill into his mouth and he somehow stayed upright. He walked to behind their lines and when there was a gun to his head he stopped. Only when the singing had died down did he talk, finally sure that he was free. And his mind was empty and numb and his own voice was too loud without the music in the background. And life was far too quiet.

And he didn't talk much on the ride to Clivesdale. And he asked if Emma had made it and they assured him that she had. And they put him in a room so they could examine him and the only sound was the steady beeps of his heart monitor and it was too quiet. The little bit of peace Paul had longed for for years was wrong. Silence enveloped him, louder than the music had ever been and he could hear blue blood coursing through his veins and it was driving him insane.

And his salvation was his downfall as he fell from one hell into the next.


	3. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can be read as a continuation of the first drabble i guess
> 
> nightmares  
> ptsd?

Paul was having nightmares again, Emma knew it as soon as his hand hit her face. He always started throwing punches when this happened, the leftover blue in his blood calling him to Hatchetfield while his mind fought apotheosis. He was talking to himself again, too. Not that he knew, of course. He never remembered the nights where Emma sat by his side stroking his hair and whispering reassurances to him as he wrestled with himself, didn't remember the conversations, that bone-chilling voice Emma hated so much. Didn't know that Emma insisted they sleep with the curtains open because the sunlight broke the spell and returned his eyes to brown. Didn't know why she was always so tired, why she was so protective of him.

And that was okay, he didn't need to know. In fact, Emma would prefer it if he never found out just how much alien blood was still coursing through his veins, didn't know that it was still there, whispering in his mind when he was at his most vulnerable.

So, she covered the bruises, slapped some concealer on her dark circles, and started chugging coffee as best she could without thinking of Hatchetfield. Because Paul deserved to be happy, damn it. He deserved to live in a world where he was fully, boringly, human, even if it was just pretend. And he deserved to be taken care of.

Likewise, Emma was having episodes again. Paul always knew when she had one. Her breathing would change and she'd stare off into space as she relived that day. So, he poured her another cup of coffee and took her hand in his, softly trying to pull her out of her own mind. He wasn't stupid, he knew about the nightmares and everything else going on with him, but Emma wanted him to be happy. So, he draped a blanket over her and threw his arms around her as she fought her memories.

And so they took care of each other, eternal allies in a war already fought.


End file.
